


The Great Icelandic Pizza Controversy

by delighted



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delighted/pseuds/delighted
Summary: The Great Icelandic Pizza Controversy.Or, how pizza brings the boys together. Pizza, and news stories from northern Europe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, you probably saw that the President of Iceland got in trouble for saying he wants to ban pineapple on pizza. Of course I had to write about that.... And then I saw the news from Sweden about the idea of a paid mid-day break for partners to go home and have sex, because it would improve relationships, and they think this is important. Well. I can work with that. ;-)

Danny’d been really crabby lately. Maybe that’s something you might imagine Steve would be a little more used to by now. And, he was, only... Danny’d been _really_ crabby lately.

That week they’d had mostly easy cases (if there is such a thing). Even the paperwork hadn’t been awful. Steve took everyone for lunch on Monday, after they’d been out training with some new equipment. Lou brought munchies in on Tuesday; Chin got coco puffs for them on Wednesday. They went out for beers on Thursday when their case finished early and it was sunny and lovely out and they just wanted to be together. Steve got extra swimming and paddle boarding in every day that week, and they’d all agreed to go surfing on Saturday. Danny even managed to not have any drama with Rachel, not even when he had the kids over on Wednesday. It was like some magical bubble of calm civility and happiness had permeated the island that week.

So why was it, that come Friday afternoon, the cloud of crabby that had been hanging over Danny’s head for the last I-don’t-even-know-how-long had intensified rather than lifted even a little?

Damned if Steve knew.

He was hiding in Kono’s office. Well, okay, it’s kind of hard to hide in glass offices. But he wasn’t in his office. Because Danny could watch him from his office, and Steve needed to get some advice.

Not that Kono was proving much help.

“I dunno, boss. But you gotta do _something_ ,” Kono was saying. While her words were sympathetic, her tone was clearly not. She was smirking, and he was pretty sure she was going to be laughing about this later with the guys. 

He sighed, possibly a little overly dramatically, and that got her to offer some words of advice: “Just, go,” she said softly, stepping closer. “Get him out of here. Take him home, feed him, make him put his feet up, _distract him_....” She drifted off meaningfully as she emphasized that last, and there was a definite tone to it that hinted at what she _wasn’t_ saying.

Steve, guessing what it was, rolled his eyes.

“Just a suggestion, boss,” she said swiftly, and with a firm pat on his back she shoved him out the door of her office and towards Danny’s.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered as he strode into the path of crabbiness.

Danny was sitting at his desk, typing something with considerably more force than was necessary. Steve tried really hard not to react, just stood in the doorway, leaning against it in a calm and relaxed way—or so he hoped.

“What do you want?” Danny grumbled without looking up.

“You done?” Was all Steve would say. Maybe he should have said it more kindly. But then again, it did get Danny’s attention.

Danny looked up, blinked, almost as if he was clearing something from his field of vision. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just a sec,” and he typed a few more things, then shut his machine down. “Alright, let’s get out of here,” he said, standing up and heading for the door.

Steve didn’t move.

Danny stopped right inside Steve’s personal space. Not that personal space was something either of them really believed in when it came to each other.

Hoping he looked stern, Steve bent his head towards his partner and said: “Work stays here tonight, okay?”

Danny smiled slightly. “Yeah, babe, of course,” and put a hand on Steve’s arm.

Still not moving, Steve continued. “Everything else, too.”

He could see Danny struggle to swallow. “Alright,” he managed.

Steve smiled, and wrapped an arm around Danny. “Great! Let’s go home.”

Neither of them commented on the fact that they both knew Steve meant _his_ home. And that he’d been doing that a lot lately—calling his home _their_ home, insinuating that it was Danny's too, and otherwise just essentially pretending that they lived together.

Thing is, a few weeks ago, that had basically been the case. Because a while before that there’d been several really rough cases in a row, and they had wound up alternating nights sitting by each other’s bed “just to make sure.” The result had been that Danny'd started leaving a bag of things at Steve’s house and Steve had started leaving a bag of stuff at Danny’s.

Since then, on those really awful nights where the cases were heartbreaking and didn’t end till the wee hours of the morning, they had taken to staying at which ever house was closer. Except that Steve’s house was easier, as he had the two guest rooms, while Danny’s house meant that Steve—who was too big for Charlie’s kid sized bed, and didn’t want to taint Grace’s room with his presence—it meant that Steve slept on the sofa. Which, Danny didn’t seem to think should be such a big deal; after all, Danny tended to think of sofas as second beds. But Steve most assuredly did not agree with that assessment.

Essentially the result was that Danny had been, more often than not, spending more time at Steve’s house than his own. And he didn’t seem to mind.

Steve sure didn’t.

Danny sent Steve on ahead to swim while he went to the store to get some things for the weekend. Steve hesitated just a moment before allowing Danny to go grocery shopping without a list. He knew that often meant trouble (witness the one weekend they’d had nothing to eat but salad and fourteen kinds of chocolate), but he also knew that it could be therapeutic for Danny.

While Steve swam, he tried to let his thoughts just flow by him as the water did. But his mind stayed relentlessly on target: Danny. Danny in the morning, stumbling blearily into the kitchen, mumbling “Coffee, where’s my coffee.” Danny in the evening, sprawled out on the sofa, laughing at some late night comedy show. Danny just out of the shower, still dripping wet, hair slicked impossibly back. Danny ready for bed, soft and rumpled, ducking into Steve’s room to say “Goodnight.”

Steve was starting to think he had a problem. A very Danny shaped problem.

Frustrated with himself, he stopped swimming, flipped over to his back, and just floated.

What was it, he asked himself, that he wanted? He used to think it was just more time with Danny, more connection with Danny, more of a sense of... control. He knew that sounded awful, but it was kind of how it felt. Danny could be so off the wall sometimes. But Steve had found over the years that when he was able to harness that energy he could focus it to his and the team’s benefit. And harnessing Danny’s energy was something that Steve seemed uniquely capable of doing. Further, when Danny was away from him for too long, things tended to suffer. Both for Danny and for Steve, and sometimes for the team as well.

It honestly wasn’t until that moment that Steve realized: since the week had been such an easy one, Danny had slept at his own place each night that week.

Was it possible that this explained Danny’s crummy mood?

Encouraged by this possibility, Steve flipped back over and continued his swimming—back to land. Back to Danny.

He ambled into the kitchen as Danny was unloading groceries. There was a bag of pizza dough sitting on the counter, a can of sauce, a hunk of mozzarella, some fresh basil, and some lettuce and veggies for salad.

Steve stood there—dripping, and smiling. Danny turned around and saw him, and the look that flashed through his eyes stopped Steve’s breath. But then Danny was yelling at Steve for dripping on the floor like a Neanderthal, and Steve retreated, laughingly, upstairs to shower before Danny started throwing things at him.

Being notoriously fast in the shower had its benefits, and Steve was back downstairs before he was fully dry—no longer dripping, but with his hair still wet, a towel around his neck, shirt held at his side. Maybe he just wanted to make sure Danny didn’t burn down the house, maybe he had other reasons for returning before he was fully dressed... honestly even he wasn’t totally sure.  

Danny had his sleeves rolled up, and he was spreading the pizza dough out on the board, arm muscles flexing powerfully as he worked out some of the aggression that had found its way earlier to the keyboard. Steve, who had a bit of a thing about Danny’s arms, found himself entranced, and also found he had to hold himself back from pressing up behind Danny and wrapping his arms around him.

_Well, so much for not knowing what he really wanted_......

Instead, he went with sass and teasing. Because, well, it was his default with Danny.

“You gonna put some pineapple on mine?” He asked as he grabbed a bottle of wine and began to open it.

“You know, in Iceland, that’s illegal.”

“Um, pardon?”

“Well, it’s not. But the president wishes it were.” Danny paused to hold out his hand for his wine glass. He took a drink. “Now that,” he said, as he set his glass down. “That is a president I could really get behind.”

Steve had, unfortunately, just taken a sip of wine. He managed to not spit it out, but he did choke on it.

Danny grinned. Evilly? Huh. Yeah. _Danny grinned evilly_. Interesting.

Stunned and not really sure what to do with that, Steve just stood there, sputtering on his wine, while Danny continued to grin. When Steve recovered himself, Danny went back to assembling the pizza: “Should I grate the cheese? Or just slice it?” He mused to himself, as he hesitated between the big box grater and the knife. “I think I’ll just slice it,” he decided, and seemed to find his decision highly amusing. Sometimes Steve wondered about what the hell went on inside that head of his.

After Danny put the pizza in the oven, he turned to the salad.

“Want me to help?” Steve asked, as he leaned lazily back against the counter, drinking his wine, watching Danny, and very much wishing they could do this every Friday night.

Danny paused in his tearing of lettuce to look up at Steve. “No,” he said slowly, as though he were explaining something completely obvious. “You are mean to the vegetables. You’re supposed to chop them, not assassinate them.”

Steve had to press his lips together hard to keep from grinning. “Okay,” he finally managed to say.

“But you could go set the table,” Danny replied.

The grin broke through. Bit by bit, Danny’d taken over some of the more domestic things in Steve’s home. Danny always had placemats, cloth napkins, and even candles on his own dining room table, but over time, staying at Steve’s as much as he had been, he’d come to discover that Steve actually had all those things—he just never used them. So Danny had started making sure he did.

Grabbing the bottle of wine, Steve headed to the dining room to, in fact, set the table. It had been his responsibility for years when he was a kid, before Mary was old enough to be trusted with knives and glasses, so it always made him feel a little sentimental. He and Danny had established their places at the table as across from each other—not at the long ends of the table, where Steve’s folks had sat, but the shorter distance, where he and Mary had. It was more intimate that way.

_Uh, rather, it made more sense that way._ Right _._

Steve sighed, finished his wine, poured himself some more, and got to work.

Dinner was lovely. Steve enjoyed his pizza even without the pineapple, and the salad really was good; Danny had become quite the salad aficionado. Danny also seemed to have relaxed and perked up from his week of crabbiness. He was at ease, enjoying himself, fully engaged in discussing world events in a light and playful manner. Steve was amused, and really quite taken with the whole thing. He seemed to have drifted off a bit back into the land of daydreaming about having this on a much more regular basis, when something snapped his attention back solidly to Danny.

“They _what_ now?” Steve found himself saying. He thought Danny had said something about afternoon breaks for _sex_. He knew his pupils were dilated. He felt flushed. And was very glad he’d put his shirt on.

“Well,” Danny continued, completely unperturbed, “This _is_ the same country that takes regular breaks for coffee and pastry,” as though adding intercourse to that list was somehow the next logical step. “Frankly, I don’t know why we don’t adopt Sweden’s break practices. It sure would make _me_ more effective at _my_ job.” And he took a long, slow sip of his wine.

Steve really couldn’t be at all sure. He had to be dreaming, right? Because it sure as hell seemed like Danny was _flirting_ with him.

Before he could do anything with that information, Danny’d moved on to some other world news item, and Steve, though dizzy, followed him without too much stumbling.

Eventually they got up to clear the table, put the leftovers away, and start the dishes. Somewhere along the line, Steve had managed to spill some pizza sauce on his shirt.

“Ach, babe, that’s gonna stain,” Danny scolded him. “Here, lemme take it off. I’ll go put stain stick on it right away.”

Steve perked up at the offer to remove his clothing. But he was also kind of stunned, so he just stood there as Danny tugged his shirt off over his head and puttered off to the laundry room.

Returning to his dish washing bare-chested, Steve found himself torn between feeling exposed (which was odd, considering how readily he removed his own clothing in front of Danny) and feeling... well, _anticipatory_. Danny was just being attentive, Steve told himself, _don’t read anything into it_. But he wasn’t really listening.

Steve heard Danny return, but didn’t look up from his dishwashing. He heard wine fill a glass, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Danny take up a place resting back against the counter, watching him.

Washing dishes, whilst half naked, and being frankly admired by a gorgeous blond. Well, in all honesty, it was probably not _actually_ a new experience. But it sure _felt_ like a new experience. And it was, to be completely honest, more than a little unsettling.

He found himself slowing his movements down. Taking his time with each knife, each plate, each glass. It was possible he was trying to get back at Danny for his own efforts with the pizza dough. Steve was a lot more uncovered than Danny had been, and he played that up to his advantage. He might have overdone it a bit, as when he was drying the salad bowl, he felt something tweak, and wasn’t fast enough to conceal his grimace.

“You okay there, babe?” Danny asked, his tone warm but slightly teasing.

“Uh-huh,” Steve managed, setting the bowl down and leaning forward over the sink. He just needed a moment....

Danny stepped closer, set his wine glass down. “I could... rub that for you....”

Steve turned his head towards Danny, his look, he knew, assessing. Was Danny really offering what it seemed like he was?

“I’m good at massages, you know....”

“Are you?” It was the first Steve had heard of it.

“So I’ve been told....” Danny’s voice had taken on this odd texture Steve did not recognize. It wasn’t velvety, the way he knew his own could get sometimes if he was really flooded with longing. It was... golden, somehow. Like honey, maybe. Or just sunshine. Warm, embracing, relaxing.... Steve felt like he was melting, softening.

Steve stood up, turned around to face Danny, wanted to say something, but was simply mesmerized by the slow and purposeful way his partner was moving towards him.

When Danny was inches away, he stopped. His hands were at his side, as were Steve’s. So he only had to move them a tiny bit to grab hold of Steve’s in his own. Stepping slowly backwards, he led Steve out from behind the kitchen island. Once they were past that obstacle, he released one hand, faced forward, and pulled on the remaining hand till they were at the sofa. Sitting down and gesturing for Steve to do the same, Danny then put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, and rotated him so he was sitting with his back to Danny.

Steve was, unsurprisingly, breathing very deeply, trying to calm himself. It was kind of making him feel light headed. He heard Danny rub his hands together to make sure they were warm. He realized he was tensing his shoulders, and Danny pointed it out, wordlessly, by tapping on them gently. Steve tried to relax, but let’s be honest, that wasn’t exactly going to be easy.

Slowly, Danny worked his way down Steve’s back. Hands splayed, so that his wrists were towards each other over Steve’s spine, fingers facing outward, resting gently against Steve’s skin, almost tickling him. The force that Danny had earlier displayed with the dough, he was now applying to Steve’s back, and Steve was sure he’d never look at pizza the same way again. It didn’t just feel good. It felt... magical. It felt as though sunshine was seeping directly into Steve’s body from the palms of Danny’s hands. Much longer and Steve was sure he’d dissolve into the sofa.

After what felt like eternity and yet not nearly enough time, Danny stopped. Neither of them moved. Steve could hear Danny breathing, was more aware of his own than he ever had been. He felt, rather than heard, Danny let out a long, soft sigh, as he put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, so that when he moved himself back on the sofa, Steve wound up resting against him. Next, Danny’s arms came around Steve’s chest, grabbing a hold of each other, over Steve’s solar plexus, and resting there, like it was where they belonged. His head fell forward, in the crook of Steve’s neck, and he let out a hot breath that sent shivers down Steve’s spine.

Steve brought his own hands up to Danny’s and placed them protectively over them. “Thank you, Danny,” he whispered, leaning his head towards Danny’s on his shoulder. He could feel Danny’s chest rise and fall, knew Danny could feel his breaths, both beneath his hands, and against his own body. They were physically demonstrative with each other on a regular basis, in front of people—even more so when they were alone. But this was a whole new and utterly different ball game.

Danny began pressing kisses to Steve’s shoulder. Making himself wait, for as long as he could, Steve basked in the sensation for probably not very long at all, before he twisted around and shoved Danny down into the sofa, covering him entirely with his body, and drowning him in kisses.

Groaning into Steve’s mouth, Danny gave in like he’d been waiting for it all week, and Steve realized, maybe he had. After a while, Steve’s hands, of their own accord, found their way to un-tuck Danny’s shirt, but before he could pull it off, Danny put his hands on Steve’s chest and shoved him upwards. It had the effect of getting Steve to stop, but Danny didn’t entirely look like that’s what he wanted.

“We should talk about this,” Danny rasped out, sounding very much like talking was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

Steve sat back and let out a breath, nodding. Danny looked disappointed, but straightened himself and sat as well.

“I, uh,” Danny started, but didn’t seem to know where to go from there.

“Your mood this week,” Steve offered. “Was it because you....” He paused. “Was it because you were at your place all week?”

Danny smiled. Closing his eyes and biting his lips together, he nodded. “I didn’t like it.” He scoffed at himself. “Took me a while to realize why, and once I did, I just wasn’t sure what to do.” He looked up at Steve, his eyes bright.

Steve felt his heart speed up. “I didn’t realize till I was swimming today. If I had....”

Danny’s head tilted at that. “If you had, what?”

Steve moved closer to Danny. “I’d have done something about it.”

“Oh, really? Like what?”

Steve licked his lips, saw Danny’s breath catch. “Well, those lunch breaks are sounding like a good idea,” he whispered.

Heat flashed in Danny’s eyes, and Steve recognized the look he’d gotten when he came in from swimming. Recognized also, looks he’d been getting from Danny for quite a long time.

“Can we talk more about this upstairs?” Steve asked, from about five inches in front of Danny’s lips.

Danny looked for one moment like he might resist, but then he got up, somehow avoiding Steve entirely, and basically ran for the stairs.

Steve laughed in surprise, and bolted after him.

Afterwards, they were sitting out on the upstairs lanai, another bottle of wine open between them, gazing at one another as though they’d just met.

“We really should probably get some sleep,” Danny said, breaking eye contact to pour himself some more wine.

“I’m not sure I _could_ sleep right now,” Steve replied, watching Danny’s every move.

“We’re supposed to go surfing with the team in the morning,” Danny reminded him.

“They can wait.”

Danny’s eyes met Steve’s. Looking intently into them, he smiled. “Yeah, I suppose they can.” And he sat back in his chair, kicking his feet up into Steve’s lap.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve said softly as he began rubbing Danny’s feet.

“Me too, babe.” Danny said, closing his eyes and sighing into the contact. “ _Me too_.” 


End file.
